Not Good Enough
by Clara Kingsley
Summary: A mysterious letter invites Emma to live at Heelshire manor. She thinks it'll be the hopeful start of a new life, however, she quickly discovers that she wasn't brought there out of charity. Brahm's needs a caretaker after Greta abandoned him and he's chosen her as the replacement. Will Emma run away after discovering the secrets hiding in the walls, or succumb to the madness?
1. Home Sweet Home

Chapter 1

Home Sweet Home

Emma stared at the line of endless trees passing by, thinking how long it might before she finally arrived. After the sleepless nine-hour flight from Washington to London Heathrow and the three-hour train ride into the countryside of absolute nowhere, she was wide awake. It might've been the nerves keeping her up, but mostly she just believed she was unlucky and this whole trip was cursed. On the flight she'd been forced to sit next to Ryan Nearby, of all people. She'd had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting Ryan on a study abroad trip to London when they were both in college and he was the guy on the trip that annoyed the crap out of everyone else. Out of all the seats, on all the flights, he had to psychically seek her seat out amongst the rest and choose the one next to it. When he wasn't being culturally insensitive prick and trying to flex his many accomplishments since they'd last met, he was blissfully asleep. Bastard.

Despite Ryan and the other fresh airport hell she'd had to endure on her journey, the train ride had been peaceful, and she was finding the cab ride even more so. Emma's mind was a little more at ease then it had been before, however, she remained in a tense state of alertness. She was still heading into the danger of the unknown. It'd been the most bizarre thing to ever happen to her. A few weeks prior, Emma had received a letter in the mail stating her long-lost relatives, the Heelshires, had died and she was to inherit their mansion in the countryside of England. Although, she was rather skeptic of the whole thing considering her mother and father both claimed to have never heard of them, she'd booked the trip later that night. She'd found that she had a strong desire to get away from civilization after certain events had happen. Flee the country. She didn't care how. She was only grateful that salivation had manifested itself in some way before she killed herself.

"So, were the Heelshires a nice family? Did you ever meet them?" Emma asked the driver, curiously. She was suddenly in the mood to talk with someone after the realization she'd not talked to a single soul since saying goodbye to Ryan.

"Relatively nice family. I only met them once or twice before they died. Drove their last nanny up and, a few months later, they kicked the bucket—that was about two years ago." the driver replied, shockingly casual, considering the subject matter. Emma wanted to question the fact they died only two years ago and the nanny. Did they have a child that young? From what she'd managed to find about the Heelshires online is that they were an elderly couple when they committed suicide. Their only son had died in a fire when he was young. However, the car suddenly stopped before she could ask him. "—Here we are then."

They'd arrived in the driveway of a large stone manor. Emma got out and took in the sights, while the driver removed her various suitcases and bags from the trunk. The grounds were clearly lacking a certain upkeep. Hedges that were once neatly cut splayed out in an aesthetically overgrown way. Flowers died from not being kept. It was a desolate and rainy atmosphere, but she was used to that from home. She was built to survive the climate. Emma opened the door, with an old-fashioned key that had been crudely taped to the original letter, and surely enough it actually worked.

They lugged the bags in together. The inside of the Heelshire mansion screamed old English wealth and refinement in every way. They were greeted by dark wooden walls and intricate floral carpets. There was surely a library with such boring and somehow still ridiculous titles from floor to ceiling. Emma also imagined there to be a room specifically for entertaining large parties that was mostly empty with the purpose of catering as a dancefloor and place to chatter.

"Woah…" She couldn't help but mumble aloud. It was baffling to think that any of this belonged to her. This surely couldn't be real.

"Yeah, it's always been a lovely place. Shame it's so far out." the driver added, setting her other bags down by the pile she'd started in the middle of the foyer. He suddenly rummaged in his pocket and handed her a slip of paper. "Here, I've got the grocer's number for ya'. It'll be too much of a hassle for you to walk to town so often. The Heelshire's always arranged for a food delivery once a week."

"Thank you so much! I'll be sure to call them right away." Emma exclaimed. She hadn't realized until he said it, but her stomach was in an angry rumble.

"Cheers, love—Give me a ring too the next time you need a lift."

Emma waved farewell and shut the doors. Finally alone. However, she didn't truly feel alone. The house was still very much alive. People could've easily been living up till yesterday. A little dusty in a few spots, but it looked to be a place not long since forgotten. The oak furniture was still shiny and polished and even the plants looked to be lush and green. Emma peered into various rooms. Dining room. A private study filled with books _and_ a large library. There was even a billiards room. She wandered into the kitchen and her stomach growled to remind her that she'd better call the grocer now or else. Her cell got very poor reception, but thankfully she managed to call the number the cab driver gave her. After explaining her situation, the grocer said he'd send one of his guys up as soon as he possibly could. About an hour at most. Apparently, the Heelshire's had paid the local store so much in advance they still had a lot of credit there. Emma sighed with the relief that she'd soon have more in her stomach then a bag of chips and went back to the foyer to grab her things. Time to go up and unpack.

There were many rooms to choose from, but ultimately she chose the one with the beautiful four-poster bed. It looked like the resting place of a Victorian era princess. There was even a water jug for washing, despite the fully functional bathroom across the hall. Emma hoisted her large check bag on top of the seat at the end of the bed and began to unpack the many storage cubes worth of clothes. Suddenly, after about an hour of tedious organizing, she heard the doorbell ring. After briefly checking her appearance at the vanity, and instantly being disgusted by the bags under her eyes, she walked unenthusiastically to answer the door. Hopefully, it'd be fine. The owner of the store said one of his 'guys', but honestly what were the chances he'd be sending a _cute_ guy. How many cute guys worked in small town grocery stores? She opened the door and nearly jumped at the sight two massive brown paper bags concealing where a man's head may or not be. Emma tried to peer around at him, but not be insanely obvious.

"Mind giving me a hand?"

"Sure!—I'm sorry." Emma mumbled. She took one of the bags and led him towards the kitchen. Finally, setting the groceries down on the kitchen counter, Emma got her first real look at the delivery boy. He was tall and incredibly lanky, but his features weren't terrible. His dark hair looked really soft and his face was far too young to be hidden away by the thin beard he was growing. She tried not to regard him too much and quickly busy herself with unpacking the food. "Thanks for coming on such short notice."

"It was no problem really." he added. Emma nodded her appreciation, still trying not to look at him. However, she hadn't the faintest clue where to put anything. She was frantically looking around the room clutching a tub of butter. Did the fridge even work? Was the power on in any part of the house, for that matter? Thankfully, he noticed her distress and was not cruel, "Would you like some help?"

"That would be amazing! You're a lifesaver." she exclaimed, going a little overboard with cheer. The exhaustion must've finally been kicking in. Regardless, he started unpacking everything onto the counter. There was a silent minute before she realized this would probably be her every week. He might be her only form of human interaction. It'd best to introduce herself. "I'm Emma."

"Paul." he replied, simply. They shook hands and suddenly everything felt a little more relaxed between them. Emma was pleasantly surprised. Usually she could hack at awkward air with a hacksaw and it wouldn't do a damn thing. She wondered if he felt the same way or was still walking on eggshells. "You know, I was a bit concerned when my boss handed me the delivery. Thought he was pulling my leg."

"Why?"

"Well, ever since the Heelshires passed, this place has been unhabitable." Paul explained. He sounded a bit surprised. Nearly everyone in town knew about the Heelshire's tragic story. Although, the American accent was one of the first things he noticed about her, it still was baffling him. How could she move here and not know what everyone else was saying? "They say it's haunted."

"Isn't every big house in middle of nowhere haunted in some respect, according to Steven King and every horror movie ever created?" Emma laughed, sarcastically.

"It's just what I've heard around the watering hole. I don't really believe in all that paranormal crap—do you?"

"Not usually…" she replied. However, her thoughts came back to the whole 'alive' feeling the house seemed to have. Before Paul got there, she still didn't feel that she was alone. Emma shook the slightly paranoid thoughts from her mind. "—Well, it looks like everything is in somewhat of an order now. I appreciate the extra assistance."

"No worries." Paul answered, wiping his hands off for good measure. He headed towards the back-kitchen door. "See you next week then?"

"If I'm still alive by then!" Emma added, doing her best impression of something ghostly and sinister. He cracked a small smile and waved her goodbye.

Emma sighed and cursed herself for her stupidity as she watched him walk back towards his car. It was starting again. One insignificant conversation and a quick smile and suddenly she was helpless. This would not end well. She had a rotten streak with men a mile long at least, with her latest heartbreak being about a week before she left and the main reason why she decided to fly halfway around the world. Emma returned upstairs with the intent on trying to call her best friend, Hannah, to talk her down from this sudden boy crazy hysteria she thought the countryside isolation would beat out of her. She was passing down the hall at a significant pace, when suddenly she backtracked. In her haste to pick a room, she'd missed a closed door. Maybe it was even better than the one she had chosen. However, after opening the door it was apparent this room belonged to someone else.

The room was covered with tin toys on every shelf and varieties of stuffed mohair bears. Emma had spent most of college years working in a vintage toy store downtown. The bosses were a bitter and ancient couple who clung too harshly to the old ways. They would've blown a gasket if they'd seen this room. To think that a parent would allow their kids such nice, fragile toys. They were under a strict notion that toys were not meant for kids. Emma hated them for that and only took little guilt in wishing they would just kick the bucket already. They'd also often yell at her for slacking off when she was doing something they'd assigned her to do five minutes ago and they'd promptly forgot about. One time they caught her playing unauthorized piano music in the store to try and ease the customers who complained about the dead silence, and screamed at her when they thought no one else was around. A customer who'd heard the yelling and rushed out even came back later to see if she was okay. It'd been that bad. She lied and said she was perfectly fine. Emma had already been using a portion of her limited bathroom breaks to cry her eyes out long before this upsetting incident.

Emma thought seeing all these old toys might drudge up those bad memories again and ruin them for her. She'd need to board up this room. Sell the toys on eBay with little regret to their original owner. However, thankfully, she felt no animosity towards them and made sure she didn't disturb anything as she looked around at the little museum of nostalgic trinkets. This was the Heelshire's son's room, surely. It was remarkably kept, considering he'd been dead for so much longer. Emma scanned over the herds of lions and army of tin soldiers, carefully, until she heard something. She'd been careful not to wind anything up, despite how curious she was, and it didn't sound like metal anyway. She thought she'd heard a faint little knock on the wood. She looked around the room, but didn't find a toy out of place or any other possible sources. However, she noticed an odd thing sitting in the rocking chair. A boy.

Not a real one, thankfully. It was just a doll. If not for her previous experience in the toy shop, this probably would've frightened her a little more. She found his presence more peculiar, than anything else. The other toys made sense, but what young boy want with this delicate, porcelain doll? She didn't want to be pushing outdated gender norms on this poor dead boy, however, judging the rest of the room he wouldn't be bothered with a doll. The porcelain boy had a letter in his lap, tied with scarlet red ribbon. It was addressed to her.

_Dear Emma, _

_It is unfortunate to have to meet you this way. We're extremely sorry that we never could face you when we were still alive. The manor is yours now and we hope you will enjoy living here. Enclosed in this letter there are certain house rules we hope you will stick too, even though we are gone. It'd mean so much us if the manor were to live on, as it has been in the family for generations. Our final gift to you is Brahms. We hope you will love and care for him in our absence. If you're good to him, he'll be good to you._

The next page was the list of rules:

No Guests

Never Leave Brahms Alone

Leave Meals in Freezer

Never Cover Brahms Face

Read a Bedtime Story

Play Music Loud

Clean the Traps

Only Malcolm Brings Deliveries DELIVERY BOYS STAY OUTSIDE. FORBIDDEN!

Brahms is Never to Leave

Kiss Goodnight

"Oi, most of these rules are about you, little troublemaker—And what sort of vendetta do you have against the grocery guy? I think he's cute." Emma added, eyeing Brahms haughtily. She had a slightly childish and emotional connection to toys, but this was too much, even for her. "I didn't come here to be your babysitter, Brahms. I came here—"

Suddenly, a little clown in a pinstripe costume came crashing down on her from a high shelf. His body was stuffed but his face was also made of a painted porcelain. Emma rubbed the sore spot, cursing, and bent to pick him up. He jingled innocently as she placed him temporarily on the dresser. Brahms was staring at her with his large glass eyes, watching her as she worked. They were supposed to be emotionless and empty, but something within them screamed sadness and anger. Emma got caught in up in them for a brief moment, before quickly disregarding him, and excusing herself from the room. She raced down the hallway with the fastest speed-walk she could muster. Clearly, what Paul had said was getting to her a little too much and she needed to get some rest.

After a speedy shower, Emma was finally the good combination of both clean and tired. She finally was able to sooth her stomach's desperate stabs for attention and wolfed down two grilled cheeses in about 5 minutes flat. Emma had completely forgotten all her previous woes and was ready to sink into a deep slumber, by the time she climbed into the large four-poster bed. She'd fallen immediately asleep.

Unfortunately, she didn't stay that way.

Emma's jetlag woke her suddenly in the dead of the night, her body clearly thinking it was another time. She was wide awake, despite only getting about 3 hours of sleep. Quickly getting over the slight fear of waking up in an unfamiliar location, she rationed that there were a couple options available to her in this moment. Lay in the dark and pray she might be able to go back to sleep eventually. Go down to the library and find a book until she felt tired again. Find where Paul put the hot chocolate and get the kettle going. Try to last until morning seemed like the better way to try and get herself on the right schedule. Once Emma retrieved her pocket flashlight from under her pillow and threw on a sweater, she ventured into the silence of the night, down to the kitchen. Despite finding the silence quite eerie and wanting desperately to play a jaunty Broadway musical jingle from her playlist of many to dissipate it, she did her best to be as quiet as possible. The house was obviously sleeping, even if Emma was not. She settled on a cup of breakfast tea, hoping the caffeine would help her once the feeling of being 'too awake' eventually faded. Sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, cuddled in a sweater with a cup of something warm, it was hard not to feel comforted. In this little moment, she didn't have to worry about the problems she'd left behind and how they might be chasing after her to threaten this new life. However, the moment didn't last.

There was another tap. A little checking knock. Another faint sound that threatened her lonely peace and foretold impending doom and imminent danger. Thankfully, the kitchen came with the best stockade of possible weaponry. Although she really wasn't sure how knives and rolling pins might help against the only suspects she had for her assailants. Ghosts. What Paul said about the manor kept dredging back up, despite how much she tried to bury it. But, why would the Heelshire's haunt her, after inviting her to live in their home? The knock transformed into a little click. Someone was opening the front door. However, Emma was so struck with shock she didn't move. She knew it was a bad move, when she could've at least tried to hide herself under the kitchen table first. The dark figure's head automatically turned towards the light emanating from the kitchen. Whoever it was, froze completely solid at the sight of her, as well. They were both waiting for the other to speak first.

"Burglar or spirit—which are you?" Emma gained the courage to ask the figure. At the sound of her voice, the figure tilted its head with curiosity.

"Neither." they mumbled softly.

Then, they walked closer and stepped into the light.


	2. Another Boy's Mistake

Chapter 2

Another Boy's Mistake

He stepped into the bright kitchen light. If he was a dangerous thug with intent on ransacking the place, he was awfully ill-dressed and boyish looking. How many criminals had a bad gingery-blonde dye job and skinny jeans? Maybe on the streets of London, she'd suspect him for something on the more devious side, but even that would be stretching it. He looked like the guy you might see at the club at two in the morning. Drunk off his ass and dancing like a proper fool with two left feet, but not starting brawls or hitting on girls who clearly had boyfriends at least.

"Are you a ghost?" he inquired, cautiously drawing nearer.

"No, I'm Emma. I live here." she said, slightly haughty. Even though she'd technically just asked him if he was the ghost, she'd found some offence in his simple question.

"Since when?"

"A few hours. What's it to you? Why the hell are you in my house?" she snapped back, quickly.

"It was a stupid dare. A few hours ago we were drunk off our asses and my mates—Wyatt and Gavin—dared me to spend the night in the old Heelshire place." he replied, desperately. He quickly eyed Emma up and down with an unfading sense of surprise that Paul had given her earlier. Who in their right mind would attempt to take up residence in the Heelshire manor? "I didn't expect there'd actually be someone mad enough to live here."

"Aren't you a little old for that kind of idiocy?" Emma jabbed, blatantly ignoring his comment insulting her sanity.

"Look—Alcohol generally makes you act either ten years younger or ten years older. I don't make the rules. It's science." he insisted. The icy cold look of distain and disbelief weren't fading from her expression as fast as he hoped. Better to make a hasty escape before she realized that the knife block was within arm's length of where she was standing. "I'm really sorry. I'll just go now—"

"What's the cost?" Emma inquired, suddenly. Although, she'd done nothing but chide the intruder, she couldn't help that his presence was a comfort while the house was busy sleeping. It was nice to have someone to talk to at least. She would be devoid of any human contact until Paul returned next week with more groceries. Maybe she could stall him for a few more minutes.

"They're planning on shaving me bald if I chicken out, but really it's fine. My trim is garbage anyway—I mean, have you seen it! I don't know what I was thinking wanting to go only partially blonde…" he answered, pulling at his bangs as if they already weren't catching the light in awkward patches. Emma eyed the back of his head and just noticed it was naturally a mousy brown color that successfully hid in the shadows. It was honestly a terrible haircut already and then she managed him without any hair at all. She started snickering a little, trying to silence herself, before she let out a loud cackle and woke the house up. He noticed her feeble struggle to contain her laughter. "It's not that funny. Are you alright?"

"Sorry, I just didn't really notice how ridiculous it was, until you brought it up." Emma wheezed, trying desperately to turn away from hysterics.

"Well, when you see me around town without hair, I'd appreciate it if you not be on the ground laughing if that's at all possible. You're going to ruin my credibility."

"Keep your trash hair. I like it and I could use the company anyway." she smiled, already heading back for the kettle to heat up some more water and grab an extra mug.

"Really?" he asked, in clear disbelief. Despite his high suspicions about this odd situation, his body had decided to stay and was already sitting himself down at one of the seats at the kitchen counter.

"Sure, I'm going to be up for a while, and you seem like a sufficiently non-threatening guy." Emma reasoned.

"Insomnia?" He checked the kitchen clock by the windowsill. Now, that she'd mentioned it, two in the morning was a bit of an off time to have found her sitting in the kitchen fully awake.

"I've just flown in from America and my internal clock hasn't adjusted yet." she sighed.

"Thought you sounded kind of odd. So, you're American then?" he smirked, jokingly. She fake-pouted as she brought two full mugs back to the counter for them. "From what I've heard, America is a half-decent place most of the time. What on earth made you want to move to the middle of nowhere?"

"Free mansion. Apparently, I'm the one of the last Heelshires."

"I thought _they_ were the last." he added, gesturing out into the foyer. He'd probably caught a glimpse of the giant family portrait of the Heelshires.

"I'm a very distant relative from a very distant land." Emma said, trying to sound mystical and grand. Her image of the Heelshires were ostentatious and not based in enough reality. She imagined this house being run by a happy family, truly alive and brimming with entertainment. However, she frowned and suddenly forced herself to confront why when she claimed their heritage it sounded so fake instead. "To be honest, I'm not quite sure I believe it..."

"Why not?" he asked.

"It's a little too convenient. I wanted to leave, and the letter appeared like magic." she replied. Emma didn't want to go full conspiracy theory on a guy she just met, but she felt like she needed to voice her growing opinions to someone in order to demolish them. "I think I might've been brought here for some other reason."

"Ghost-busting?" he smirked, again. She cracked a small smile as he started to hum a familiar tune.

"The house isn't haunted." she insisted.

"If you swear, but I'm still not sure you're real." he admitted, taking a large swig of his tea. "For all I know, this is a hallucination—I mean, I walked in here, expecting horrors unknown, and then the next thing I know I'm invited in to drink tea in the middle of the night with a cute girl."

"Well, it looks like you've figured me out. That's not actually tea. You've been drinking bog water for the past thirty minutes." Emma chimed. He looked her dead in the eyes and took another prolonged sip. She couldn't help but grin. "You and the grocery boy probably get along well."

"Paul?—Hardly!" he scoffed, spitting some of the tea he hadn't been finished drinking when she'd mentioned him. "Don't get me wrong. He's pretty cute too, but he's also a real awkward loner who reads too many fantasy novels and tends to haul up in his house, when he's not at work. I like people who are a little more adventurous."

"Then, you won't like me. Once you stop hallucinating and the sun comes up, you'll realize I'm not some glamourous, American ghost. I'm boring..." Emma sighed.

"Alright, the fact you can even don the title 'Glamourous American Ghost' makes you automatically an interesting person." he reasoned, in her own defense. She looked at him in disbelief about his clear conviction. Emma was used to losing guys on dating apps because she was unable to think of interesting anecdotes or express her secretly outgoing personality to anyone who was not a close friend. People often treated her like a puzzle cube. They'd put all this work into solving her and getting to know her, then set her on a shelf and promptly forget about her. She's automatically unexciting once all the challenge is gone. Eventually, he'd come to realize she was nothing but empty shell once he coaxed out all her mysteries. "Who shot down your self-confidence?"

"No one. It's always been extremely shitty." she mumbled.

"It was a bloke, wasn't it?" he grinned, tauntingly.

"I'm not talking about this in the middle of the night with some stranger."

"We're not strangers."

"You forgot to introduce yourself while you were breaking into my haunted house."

"I'm Alex." he said, suddenly extending a hand. She stared at him blankly. Fate was playing cruel tricks on her yet again. It was a dreadfully common name, but why did it have to be that one? Of course, it'd been a bloke. She'd been run out of the country by a bloke named Alex and here was another one, possibly ready to do the same.

"Oh…" she mumbled. She quickly tried smiling and taking his hand, but her disappointed reaction had been too obvious and couldn't be glossed over so easily.

"What?"

"I have a friend named Alex—that's all."

"It's a common name. I know like five in town alone."

"I've got two now." Emma stated. She wondered if he would question her about the other one, intent on solving all of her mysteries. But, he thankfully remained silent. "—And they're both idiots!"

"I mean, I can't argue that…" Alex laughed. "Care to give this simpleton a tour?"

"Well, alright. We've got to be quiet though. The house is sleeping."

"Yeah, I really don't want to make a ruckus and wake up the other ghosts. Something tells me they might not be as friendly as you."

Emma procured them some flashlights from the cabinet under the sink and they ventured off together to explore. Like most large Victorian era houses, there was a room for everything. Guest rooms, family rooms, informal dining room, breakfast room, etc. All filled with fancy little things that looked like they'd never been touched. Emma couldn't help but think of that poor little boy and how he was most likely sequestered here, yet unable to touch any of it. After a quick gloss over a variety of rooms, where Emma and Alex would merely translate their commentary through sly looks, they tried sticking to the more interesting rooms. They got caught up in the library for the longest time presenting ridiculously titled old books like: "A Book of Scoundrels". Emma enjoyed the ones about a woman's etiquette because they were comprised of the most ridiculous standards of womanhood.

Eventually, it was dawn. They decided to boil some more tea and watch the sunrise on a stone bench in the graveyard adjacent to the garden that Emma hadn't gotten the chance to explore yet. It was a small peaceful moment that would draw their bizarre macabre night to an end.

"Oh my gosh! I can breathe again." Alex sighed, as they settled, heaving a huge breath to replace with the fresh morning air.

"Alright, I wasn't being that severe. You could've banged pots and pans together and I wouldn't have given two shits." Emma claimed, with a pouting frown. Part of her liked the silent interactions they had managed between them, however, another part wished she hadn't told him to be so quiet.

"Well, I suppose. But, the longer we spent poking about, the more it started to feel like a bad idea." he answered, trying his best to sound serious and foreboding. He looked off into the direction of the woods. "It felt like we weren't alone."

"Oh, enough already! You're not being funny anymore." she added, playfully hitting his arm.

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself." he laughed. "I like your graveyard. Where's yours?"

"Idiot—have at least a little respect…"

"Is that why you haven't boarded up _that_ room yet?" Alex asked, suddenly. She looked puzzled for a moment. all the rooms were nearly identical in design, except one.

"You mean Brahms's room? When did you get in there?" Emma asked back at him.

"While we were exploring upstairs. As interesting as the fourth bathroom is, I couldn't help notice you intentionally skipped a room. At first I thought it was yours." he explained. "I'm surprised you didn't notice. I nearly shit myself when I saw that doll in the rocking chair. I know I've said this like fifty times tonight, but that thing is definitely pure sin. Throw it in a fire."

"Oh, I'm not too worried about haunted dolls. I worked in an old toy store that used to be part of the underground. All the tourists used to ask me if I'd seen anything weird and I lied and told them what they wanted to hear." she replied, simply. "I never saw anything."

"So, you kissed him goodnight, then?—Can I get one too?"

"Oh god, you saw that cursed list of rules." she groaned. It was embarrassing and surely Alex would think she was mad now that he'd seen in. "That thing _can_ go directly into one of the seven fireplaces. I don't know what the heck they were thinking."

"The old couple were mental, which isn't something I really fault them for. It's just a shame they were locked up in this house and weren't able to get the help they needed." he explained. Emma sipped her tea with a quiet nod of agreement as the conversation suddenly took a graver tone. "It's a bit silly, but I'm sure their hearts were in the right place when they wrote it."

"They were thinking about him…"

Emma suddenly disappeared back through the kitchen door, but came back a few minutes later with a fresh cup of tea. It might've not have been the most proper way to perform such a sentimental ritual, but supplies was limited at the moment and it would feel wrong to pour something alcoholic onto the boy's grave when he didn't even live long enough to drink. She knelt down in the damp soil and emptied the cup over the bit of earth.

"Pouring tea on a little boy's grave is the most English thing I've ever seen, and I grew up in this country." he added. Emma pouted at him. He sighed and joined her on his knees in the soil. He poured whatever was left of his cup onto the grave as well.

"I'll cut him some flowers later or something. I just wanted to pay my respects for letting me live here and allowing me to start a new life." Emma stated.

"Okay, are _you_ the burglar? Only criminals on the run use phrases like that." Alex remarked, once again with a foolhardy and joking tone. She didn't answer him, but replied with another scathing look. "All right, then. Keep your secrets."

"The sun is up and it's time for you to go back to wherever the hell you came from. I have work to do." she said, quickly getting to her feet and lifting him up with her.

"I'm going, I'm going." he insisted. He handed her the extra tea cups and they made their way towards the front driveway together. Emma noticed everything seemed to be bathed in a new light compared to yesterday. Sometime in the night, she'd started to feel just a little more at home. It had to have been his influence. "We've had a sufficiently fun evening, wouldn't you say, ghost girl?"

"I might say that."

"Will I be able to call on you again?" Alex inquired, to her relief. He handed her his phone and she couldn't help but smile like the biggest dork. He wanted to see more of her, even after such an odd first meeting. For now, it was a swelling and joyful feeling, that she pray wouldn't turn nauseous. Maybe this time could be different. "There isn't much of a night life in town, but a couple drinks down at the pub might be nice one in a while. You really shouldn't be stuck out here alone."

"My number—for now that's all you get." Emma answered, passing back the phone with her new UK cell digits. Getting the landline setup was one of the many things she had to do today.

"Until next time!"

She waved him off as he slipped back through the gates and down the road. She turned back into the house and couldn't help but take a little moment behind the closed doors to smile to herself. Despite not having slept like at all, she was brimming with energy. Emma considered the idea of going on a quick run before making breakfast, however, she glanced down at the line of shoes she'd set up just yesterday and her running shoes weren't there. She swept over the surrounding areas; quite certain she'd placed them by the door with the rest. She couldn't imagine Alex taking them. They weren't very expensive or easily to conceal. Emma shrugged it off, assuming she still had them upstairs or something, and went back into the kitchen to make breakfast.

She'd just put two slices of bread into the toaster when, suddenly, there was slam, followed by a loud crash from the next room. She rushed out to see what had fallen and saw the library had been reduced to a pile of books on the floor. She cursed, sighed, and took a little moment, before beginning to pick them up. It must have been a mini earthquake tussling with an already loose infrastructure. Oh well… At least she knew there wasn't any _Phantom of the Opera _style rooms hidden behind the shelves that could only be accessed by pulling a particular book forward. And, although, she and Alex had gotten pretty familiar with the different titles, this at least would be the chance to completely put her mark on the place. Organize things in her own way. She began to hum softly while she worked from top to bottom, completely forgetting that breakfast was growing cold. Her voice was beautiful and harmonious after years of lessons, but was now rarely heard by anyone else.

However, today, there was someone listening.


End file.
